CHAPTER THREE - The Request Before The Throne
1172 Words
The next day, the prince stood before his mirror, studying his reflection. His knee-length red akwete tunic draped neatly, the ruffles of the shirt beneath soft against his skin, and the plain hemp wrapper secured firmly around his waist.
His mind kept drifting to the letter. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward where it lay. Curiosity tugged at him—dangerous, persistent, impossible to silence.
His fingers drifted to the ring on his left hand, rolling it anxiously.
“Marriage,” he muttered, huffing as a thought crawled into his mind and refused to leave.
He stepped out of his room.
“Obinna,” he called.
“Yes, my prince,” Obinna bowed. “Shall we head to the mines first?”
“No.”
The prince moved with purpose. “I wish to speak with my father first. And you will be accompanying me.” A sly grin tugged at his lips.
“Understood,” Obinna agreed automatically—then froze. “Wait—what? Why?” he hurried to his prince’s side.
“You will know when we get there,” the prince answered simply.
Obinna frowned. The prince’s tone held determination—and a worrying lack of formality. Not ideal for early morning discussions with the king.
“Can I at least have a little hint before we face your father?” he pleaded.
The prince only chuckled, hand on the door handle of the royal study.
“No.”
Then he swung the door open like a hunter marching into the wild.
The king stood by the map table—Duracrete sprawled across it, marked with small figurines of gold, purple, and brown. A scroll in hand, he turned, expression tightening.
“Dike, have you lost your manners?” he asked, struggling for calm.
“I apologize, Father, but I would like to make a request.”
The prince stepped forward quickly.
With a sigh, the king placed the scroll down and sat.
“What is it you want?”
“Please, allow me to enter the kingdom of Aethelgard in disguise.”
“What?” the king barked.
“Eh?” Obinna echoed.
Silence stretched. The king slowly looked at Obinna.
“Did you know of this?”
Obinna swallowed. “I did not, Your Majesty.”
The king’s attention snapped back to his son.
“Explain how this nonsense came into your head.”
“It is not nonsense,” the prince corrected firmly. “And I am not running from my duty in the contract.”
“It is still reckless and irresponsible.”
The prince folded his arms. “At least hear my reasons before rejecting them.”
Obinna leaned close, whispering sharply, “Do not test the king’s patience any further.”
Another sigh from the king.
“Fine. Enlighten me.”
The prince inhaled. “I understand that the agreement is meant to promote peace. But I know nothing about the princess in question or the kingdom of Aethelgard itself.”
The king nodded.
“A proper understanding of their structure—and how it might align with ours—could strengthen this alliance.” His voice softened as he continued, “And I… should know the princess before the time comes.”
“I understand,” the king said. “But that still does not justify your request.”
The prince pressed on. “If I go as the Prince of Duracrete, I will be shown curated respect. A mask. I won’t see the truth. But if I enter as one of their own, I can observe the kingdom as it truly is.”
The reasoning was sound. Even the king could not deny it. Duracrete and Aethelgard rarely interacted beyond trade; the marriage would fuse their futures. They needed clarity. Even Obinna, hearing this, felt a swell of admiration.
“…Alright,” the king conceded. “You may go.”
“Thank you, Father.” The prince bowed.
“But.”
The king’s tone cut through the air.
“You must take Ethan with you.”
“What?” Obinna blurted—but straightened immediately. “Your Majesty, I believe my brother would be more suited—”
“No,” the king interrupted. “You are my son’s most trusted companion. And compared to your elder brother, I trust you more. Finish your duties today and prepare for your journey.”
“So soon?” the prince asked.
“Yes. Aethelgard will close its borders soon due to an important private occasion.”
“Understood.”
They walked together toward the hall.
“But where are you going, Father? The council?”
“No,” the king replied. “I go to seek the priestess’ blessing for your journey.”
“I see.” The prince chuckled softly. “Then I’ll take my leave. Thank you again.”
He bowed and departed.
The king soon encountered a young servant in the corridor and sent him to inform the head butler to prepare a carriage to the Temple Ụlọ Elúmma in Solacefall. The butler hurried, and soon the king was on his way.
The temple sat at the center of a small fenced compound, surrounded by huts for the servants and aides of the priestess. The tower—an extension of the temple—rose above the treetops. The king entered through the tower door.
Up the winding stairs, he found the priestess’ abode, its door wide open. She stood amidst incense smoke, herbal scents thick in the air, her priestly attire a blend of laced tunic and brown-and-purple floral wax hollandais.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” the king noted, glancing at the open book and curling incense.
She turned, staff shaped like an owl perched on a palm-shaped branch.
“Ah, Your Majesty,” she said with an exaggerated bow. “Your visit is early. You must need something.”
“Straightforward as always,” he muttered, taking a seat.
The priestess limped to her seat opposite him.
“Time waits for no man, My King.”
“My son wishes to go to Aethelgard… and stay there for a while. I came for your counsel.”
A smile lifted the corners of her eyes. She brushed her grey cowrie-beaded braids, tapped her heel twice, and whispered,
“Chukwu kéré nwaanyị ga-enye ya nwa.”
The king leaned forward. “Meaning?”
“It means worry not—the blessings of the Lord are upon your son.”
The king exhaled, unsure what to make of it, as always. He rose to leave—but her voice stopped him.
“There is a snake that spits venom into your body. Let it be exorcised before you depart.”
“You say that every time,” the king sighed. “Yet I feel nothing.”
He shook his head. “I will return for the exorcism. But my duty to my people comes first.”
He left the temple and returned to the palace.
- Writer
